


Love the Way You Lie

by shinkonokokoro



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, it doesn't really matter. What's done is done, and now there are consequences for them to face. Merlin tried not to lie. Arthur tried not to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love the Way You Lie

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The italicised words are the lyrics in full from Eminem and Rihanna's song 'Love the Way You Lie,' which is where the title came from as well. Obviously they aren't my words. I changed the 'hers' to 'hims' though. I heard the song and the struck me and wouldn't let go, but it fit so well.

_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn, but that's alright because I like the way it hurts. Just gonna stand there and hear me cry, but that's alright because I love the way you lie. I love the way you lie._

Merlin let his head fall back against the post of the pyre, staring up at the ramparts where Arthur stood next to his father. He tried to smile, but the cuts on his face hurt just too much. It was fine. There was nothing really for it. Merlin had been careless, Arthur found out. Arthur's choice didn't involve betrayal really—that was all Merlin's. Arthur's choice was between people, and being so desperate for the love and approval of his father and just so _tired_ of Merlin's lies, the easier choice had been his father.

Merlin could forgive him for that.

The sun was hot, drying the blood on his face, back, and shoulders. And the sky shouldn't have been so blue, really, on the day he was supposed to die. He was tired. Waiting to die was exhausting.

Gaius looked on near the front of the crowd, sagging shoulders the only sign of his grief. Gwen clutched his arm, eyes glued to him, the tears already running down her face. But she stood straight. Strong. It didn't hurt that she had both Elyan and Lancelot behind her.

Uther was giving some sort of speech about his crimes for magic, like they were his fault and he hadn't saved his son's life many many times.

Merlin couldn't be bothered to pay the man any attention. Not when six knights stood a bit off, waiting. Holding a torch high.

* * *

 _I can't tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like, and right now there's a steel knife  
in my windpipe; I can't breathe, but I still fight, while I can fight, as long as the wrong feels right._

Arthur let the hand that was on the opposite side of his father clench and unclench, dull nails digging into his palm, the bite soothing something in his mind. Or maybe that was just the small comfort his subconscious offered him when faced with the prospect that Merlin was going to burn. Burn. Be on fire. Have flames consume him until he passed out or was dead. Or would he vanish? Would he save himself from this? Throw everything in his and his father's faces? The wind was colder up on the ramparts. Though, of course, that also could have been the ice of his father's heart exuding onto Arthur. He repressed a shudder and tried to just breathe.

* * *

 _It's like I'm in flight high off a love. Drunk from the hate. It's like I'm huffing paint, and I love it the more that I suffer, I suffocate._

Arthur stared down at the man who'd been by his side for the past years. Having done nothing wrong. Except for be magic. Give Arthur an excuse to finally be the perfect apple of his father's eye. Be the filthy traitor that his father demand be executed.

When Uther's hand came down lightly on Arthur's shoulder for the first time, he had to fight down the smile that threatened to burst forth. Merlin would be able to see it. See him fighting it. And that thought brought the scowl back. Why hadn't he just stayed hidden? Kept feeding Arthur foolish and hole-filled lies. Then everything would have been simple. The decision wouldn't have choked Arthur towards a decision that maybe, just maybe he was coming to regret?

* * *

 _And right before I'm about to drown, he resuscitates me. He fucking hates me. And I love it. Wait—Where you going?_

Merlin gasped as he was brought up for air once more, the smell of the dungeons accosting him again.

"Confess."

He shook his head, coughing, Uther's words dull in his ears.

"Have. You. Enchanted. My. Son."

He flinched with each word thrown at him. "I've never..." he croaked.

"Again," Uther said, voice like steel.

Water covered his head, the back of his neck raw from the hands shoving him down. He kicked out, chest burning with the air he tried to hold inside. Every move of his arms sent pain skittering up them, the cuffs moving on his blistered and bruised wrists.

"Will you confess?" The way Uther asked the question made it seem more like a statement.

For the moment, Merlin just concentrated on air. Air was a good thing. Air kept him alive. Though with the direction his life was going, he figured there maybe wasn't much a point left.

Sighing the sigh of a man exasperated and tired of lies, Uther kicked the bucket over. The water sloshed over Merlin's knees, soaking his pants and boots. "Five more lashes and then leave him for the night. We'll continue this tomorrow, sorcerer."

Merlin was too tired and numb to even scream as the whip came down and he was then tossed into a cell again.

At first, he thought he must have imagined it. But when his name floated out of the darkness to his ears, he squirmed towards the bars.

Arthur sighed his name again. "What have you done?"

"Nothing, Arthur." He smiled through the pain everywhere.

"He wants you to confess."

He almost rolled his eyes, but he met Arthur's instead. "There's nothing for me to confess, Arthur. I only ever used my magic to save your life. Your father's life even. At least twice."

Arthur couldn't keep his gaze. Following Arthur's gaze down, Merlin caught Arthur's clenched fists, clenching. Unclenching. Clenching.

"It's okay, Arthur. I don't blame you."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Arthur turned and strode stiffly towards the stairs.

"Arthur! Arthur wait! It's okay! I... I understand!"

* * *

 _I'm leaving you._

Arthur stopped at the foot of the stairs. Tilted his head slightly towards his right shoulder. "Merlin, you could never understand."

"I could though! Balinor? Balinor was my _father_ , Arthur."

The raw confession rocked him.

"I understand about fathers."

"No. No you don't," Arthur insisted quietly. He moved a foot slowly up to the first step.

* * *

 _No you ain't. Come back._

"Arthur!" Merlin cried, banging the bars in front of him with a weak fist. "Let me—damnit, let me _explain_!"

Arthur stopped and then was back in front of him. At the bars.

"Explain _what_ , Merlin? What is there to explain? We've been through this!"

"I.. I only wanted to _save_ you, Arthur!" He cursed inwardly the hot burn of tears coming to his eyes. "I've _never_ enchanted you. I've never done anything but help you! Even when— _especially_ when you don't ask for it!"

"And that's just the thing, Merlin. I can't be sure. Father can't be sure."

Struggling to his knees, he let out a low stream of curses. "But you _can_ be sure, Arthur. You've trusted me with everything and I've never betrayed your trust! Not when it matters!"

"So this..." Arthur waved a hand that encompassed the issue of magic. "Doesn't matter."

He cursed again. "Yes. Yes, it matters, Arthur. But not as much as you think."

"Of course not. It's only all my father ever worked for: eradicating magic in Camelot."

"Will you _listen_ to me?"

* * *

 _We're running right back; here we go again. It's so insane._

Arthur tried to feel dispassionate as he looked down at the pitiful mess Merlin was on the other side of the bars. "I'm listening," he said flatly.

"Arthur, I never told you because I didn't want you to have to make this choice. When you're king—"

"Careful, Merlin. That sounds treasonous to me."

"Shut _up_ , Arthur. When you're _king_ , you can make your own decisions. You can change the laws. What of Gwen?"

Arthur tossed his head and rolled his eyes, but Merlin rushed on.

"And magic? You know that I am not evil." Merlin's one good eye was wide with hope, terror, supplication, and other emotions that flickered through.

Arthur finally sighed, proud posture sagging against the bars of Merlin's cell. "Merlin. Merlin, I don't know what to think." And then he turned and trudged up the stairs.

* * *

 _Cause when it's going good, it's going great. I'm Superman with the wind in his bag. He's Lois Lane._

Left alone with his pain and his thoughts, Merlin scooted towards the hay in the corner and dropped his face into it, collapsing onto his stomach. He let the tears fall finally.

To think that only a few days past he had been laughing with Arthur as the kitten he'd found pounced on Arthur's foot, his foot, apparently, being the best thing to pounce on. Ever. So Arthur jogged around his room, laughing as the late afternoon sun filtered in through the half-open window. It burned in his mind as one of those Bright Days that he treasured in his heart. Arthur full of life. Arthur happy. Arthur kind. Arthur brave and righteous. Arthur small and lonely. Arthur telling him secrets. Arthur's smiles. Arthur. His foil. His other side of a shared coin.

At Arthur's side, he was all-powerful. Quietly. Secretly, of course. But all the same. Amongst the flags and fanfare of any triumphant return to Camelot, there was Merlin, beside or behind him. His Lord and Leige. Merlin's path to recognition and notoriety. Not like those last mattered, but it would be nice to be finally appreciated.

* * *

 _But when it's bad, it's awful. I feel so ashamed. I snap. Who's that dude? I don't even know his name._

Not like now, though. Now he would have the notoriety and recognition of being 'the sorcerer who made a fool of Uther by living in his court for years before finally being noticed.

All due to that stupid, _stupid_ mistake. The burning idiocy of it all flooded his mind.

"Shit!" he yelled to the darkness of the dungeons at night. "Bloody fucking shit!"

He banged his fists on the cold stones, the clang of the manacles reverberating up his arms, each thud-clang a lance of pain in his mind. "SHIT! Bloody buggering SHIT."

Slamming his head into the straw, he cried. Great wracking sobs of shame and anger and frustration and helplessness. Now who was going to keep him safe? It was supposed to be Arthur and Merlin. Merlin and Arthur. The Great Destiny. Going into the history books as the greatest team—Arthur with his charisma, beauty, fairness, and justice. Merlin with his magic, wisdom, good advice, and friendship.

Now was all going down in ashes.

* * *

 _I laid hands on him. I'll never stoop so low again. I guess I don't know my own strength._

Arthur stared at the ceiling, alone in his cold room. No fires to warm the room and his bed before Arthur got back. Not with Merlin gone. Imprisoned. Set to be executed in short time.

The thought of lighting a fire made him unexpectedly sick and dizzy. So he undressed in the dark and left his clothes in a pile on the floor before he slipped between the chilly sheets, the window still open from the afternoon.

A stone dungeon below the earth was probably not much warmer than Arthur's room at the moment.

The thought oddly warmed him, blood flashing cold again as he remembered all over again.

Merlin's guilty expression as he shuffled towards Arthur. They could have both pretended that the fire hadn't lit itself. It was so stupid. But Merlin had caught Arthur staring. And confessed. Finally.

Everything just shifted into place then. Merlin begged him to keep the secret. Be kind. Be fair.

Arthur backhanded him then. Shoved him against the wall. Cursed him for giving him this burden. It wasn't fair!

Merlin cringed and the only words capable of exiting his mouth were apologies. Over and over he apologised. They were the most creative apologies Arthur had ever heard.

As the bruise began forming on his cheek, Arthur dropped his hands and backed away, preferring his right shoulder as a subject of visual focus. "Get out," he said finally, knowing he was being cruel in not telling Merlin whether or not his secret would be kept. Cruel, cruel Arthur.

He'd let the secret stew in his chest for a month and a half when he really couldn't stand it anymore. Arthur had once again come close to dying—a normal man utilising a magical dagger to seek its target unerringly.

Merlin had ended the enchantment and caused the man to fall backwards down the stairs, ending his life.

Arthur bit his cheek. He had been frustrated. It was stupid of him to go to his father in a fit of passion. He was fed up with magic. Wanted it gone. Done. Out of his life.

* * *

 _Just gonna stand there, and watch me burn. But that's alright because I like the way it hurts. Just gonna stand there and hear me cry, but that's alright because I love the way you lie. I love the way you lie._

Maybe, Merlin mused numbly as he watched the clouds tracking across the sky, maybe it wouldn't be as bad. As bad as the whippings, the torture, the half-drowning, the stretching. Maybe burning would feel like something again.

It would all be fine.

* * *

 _I love the way you lie_.

Dread began it's slow siege on Arthur's heart as he watched Merlin's head loll alarmingly to one side, a small smile playing about his manservant's lips.

Surely he wasn't stupid enough to think that this was just another... Another what? Game? They never played games like this. Another chore? Arthur's throat closed off for a minute. He had to back away from the, finally, kind hand on his shoulder and retch over the other side of the ramparts, coughing, to finally breathe.

Returning to his father's side, he squinted, noticing Merlin's mouth moving. He watched the shapes go by, catching the repetition finally.

"...be fine. It will all be fine. It will all be fine."

What a beautiful lie.

* * *

 _You ever love somebody so much, you can barely breathe when you're with them. You meet and neither one of you even know what hit 'em. Got that warm fuzzy feeling, yeah them chills, used to get 'em._

Merlin didn't sleep. Waiting for the sun to rise on his bruised and battered body, he wondered what new threats Uther would come at him with to make him confess to ensorcelling his son. He snorted into the hay, thinking only of Arthur. Golden Arthur. Bitterness and hurt and regret twisted in his heart. "I'm sorry," he said to the walls. "I'm sorry," he muttered to the pit of his arm.

Waiting, he let the golden days trickle by in his memory.

Saving Arthur. Arthur praising him. Arthur thanking him. Arthur giving him a quick and furtive hug. Arthur smiling at him. Arthur punching his shoulder to cheer him up. Arthur laughing with him. Arthur taking only him to ride out into the forest. Hunting, rescuing, saving, cheering. All of these actions focused around Arthur.

It was difficult to pick a moment when he'd become Merlin's whole world.

* * *

 _Now you're getting fucking sick of looking at 'em._   
_You swore you've never hit 'em, never do nothing to hurt 'em. Now you're in each other's face, spewing venom, and these words when you spit 'em, you push._

Lying in his bed, his comfortable, familiar bed, Arthur didn't sleep at all. He tossed. He turned. He rolled. He kicked the covers off. He pulled them tight under his chin. He bit his lip until it bled. He scowled death at the wall as if it might afford him some answer. But as morning's light came, he had no answers. Only regret. Pain. Anger. That same anger that had dogged Arthur's steps from the moment Merlin told him until the moment Arthur told his father.

Merlin had come back the next morning, slinking in with breakfast. Arthur had tossed a goblet at him.

Merlin came back the next morning, eyes downcast and darkened with lack of sleep, offering clothes. Arthur cursed him. Then threw a goblet at him.

Merlin came back the following morning. Arthur chucked a bowl, a fork, and his boot. Screamed at him to get out and not show his face to him unless he was called for.

He spent the rest of the day training, beating his men's stamina into the dirt.

* * *

 _Pull each other's hair. Scratch, claw, bit 'em. Throw 'em down. Pin 'em._

He called Merlin back the next week, telling him that they were going hunting. Just the two of them. Merlin had looked alarmed and pained but nodded, got the supplies, prepared the horses. Once they were far enough from Camelot, Arthur dismounted and gestured for Merlin to do the same.

"All of it," he'd said. "I want you to tell me all of it."

Whether Arthur was expecting that to be the information that tipped the scales in his head, he wasn't sure. But he wanted it anyway. So Merlin spoke.

When these things made him angry—the times that Merlin almost died because he was saving Arthur, the times that Merlin recklessly endangered himself, he paced. Crowded Merlin.

"Are you going to listen to me or not, Arthur? You asked! I'm telling you!"

"You're an idiot!" Arthur bellowed at him.

"Fine! I'm an idiot! What does that matter?" Merlin waved his arms about, now yelling also.

Arthur took a step closer, shoving Merlin, the need for physical release too powerful to ignore.

Merlin stumbled, gaped, and then shoved back.

Rocking slightly on his heels, Arthur shoved Merlin down, kicking his ankle.

"Shit—Arthur! That hurt!"

Arthur straddled Merlin, thumping his shoulders to the forest floor. "You're an idiot!"

"So what!"

"Idiot!"  
"I don't know what that's code for!" Merlin's flailing arms caught in Arthur's hair, jerking his head.

Arthur punched his shoulder.

Merlin scratched Arthur's neck.

Before long they were rolling over the sharp loam, panting and cursing, hitting and kicking, until they were too exhausted to continue.

* * *

 _So lost in the moments when you're in 'em. It's the rage that took over. It controls you both so they say it's best to go your separate ways. Guess that they don't know ya..._

Sitting finally, Merlin looked over at Arthur, hair sticking up every which way, raised welts from his fingernails showing everywhere. He felt bad immediately. He sat in silence as Arthur finally curled upward.

"You should leave," he murmured, voice weary.

"And go where?" Merlin returned, just as tired.

"Anywhere. Away from here."

Merlin shook his head. "I... I can't Arthur."

"Why?" The demand was harsh.

"I have to stay by your side."

"Why?"

Merlin shrugged, unsure how to explain it. "Destiny."

Arthur's laugh was short and bitter. "Of course."

Merlin shrugged again. Arthur rose, brushing the leaves and dirt off him as best as he could before tromping back to his horse. Merlin followed suit.

Arthur looked at him incredulously. "Why are you following _me_?"

"Back to Camelot?" Merlin said like it were the most obvious thing.

"Merlin! You're supposed to leave! Leave Camelot. Go be... _magic_ somewhere else!"

"Destiny," Merlin said with a broken sort of smile.

Arthur glowered and refused to speak to him the rest of the ride home. The next two days even.

* * *

 _'Cause today, that was yesterday. Yesterday is over; it's a different day. Sound like broken records, playin' over. But you promised him next time you'll show restraint._

Arthur called Merlin to him early in the morning. "Breakfast, Merlin," he said like everything were normal, "should be warm. This is cold."

Merlin blinked owlishly at him. Then smiled. "Sorry." He waved a hand over the food and then steam was rising off the bread and meat.

Arthur blinked, having not expecting that reaction. "T-thanks," tumbled from his mouth as he glanced from his food to Merlin and then back at his food. Merlin's expression showed he expected it maybe less than Arthur. Whether 'it' was the magic or the thanks, Arthur couldn't tell, but in either case, it bothered him. Maybe that was what prompted the "I'm sorry" to follow suit.

"Arthur?"

"For hitting you."

"Oh."

* * *

 _You don't get another chance, life is no Nintendo game._

Arthur opened his mouth to tell him to leave again, but there was a knock at the door and a summons from his father.

* * *

 _But you lied again, now you get to watch him leave out the window, guess that's why they call it window pane._

"It won't happen again," Arthur promised with an apologetic smile as he rose and followed the servant from Uther.

Merlin nodded, forcing a smile to his own lips as Arthur left the room.

* * *

 _Just gonna stand there, and watch me burn. But that's alright because I like the way it hurts. Just gonna stand there and hear me cry, but that's alright because I love the way you lie. I love the way you lie._

The heat of the sun was deceiving. Merlin smiled into the brightness he confused with flame. The flame hadn't started. The drums had. He once again found Arthur, noting how pale his face was. Even from his distance. But of course he couldn't come closer.

He looked so sad. So lonely beneath Uther's loving hand.

"Arthur!" He cried. "It's alright, Arthur! I'm sorry, Arthur! I never..."

The knight holding the torch took slow measured steps forward.

Arthur might have well been made of stone for all Merlin's cries seemed to reach him.

"I'm sorry, Arthur! I only wanted to protect you!" The rough post snagged on the loose skin on his back and Merlin couldn't help the reflexive cry of pain that came from his mouth. "Arthur, forgive me!"

* * *

 _I love the way you lie._

With every beat of the drum, Arthur's heart matched it. Beat. Beat. One more beat closer to Merlin's death.

He cringed the first time Merlin lifted his voice. Apologies, supplication, explanations, begging. Then Uther's hand lifted to his shoulder again and he couldn't cringe. Or Uther would know. Was it too late to say it was all an elaborate prank? Arthur was confused? Arthur was angry with his servant? Would he understand? Could he apologise? If he dropped to his knees and begged?

But Arthur could see his father's face twisted with disgust and he would look away, Arthur once again a means to an end. The disappointment would rise back up, and Arthur would never again be good enough. Only to Merlin had he always been good enough.

He choked.

What was he doing.

"Arthur! I forgive you!"

"Ignore him," Uther ordered, cold and sharp as stone.

"I lived for you, Arthur!"

"Don't listen to him."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, but that couldn't stop the sound of drums announcing the impending death, and the apologetic—pleading—entreating—desperate cries of his former manservant from entering his ears and consuming his mind. "I'm sorry," he mouthed.

"It will all be okay."

No it wouldn't. It would never be okay again. And Arthur could do nothing to stop that anymore.

* * *

 _Now I know we said things, did things, that we didn't mean, and we fall back into the same patterns, same routine. But your temper's just as bad as mine is; you're the same as me._

Arthur couldn't quite meet Merlin's eyes, the decision tumbling around in his brain. Instead, he tried to act normal. Apparently, he couldn't decide was normal was, because suddenly, Merlin was yelling at him.

"What are you _doing_ , Arthur! You're driving yourself to exhaustion, you're making foolish decisions, and—"

"And who are you to state that my decisions are foolish, Merlin?"

Merlin planted his hands on his hips and glared. Quite fiercely.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "As if that's going to work on me."

"Maybe not, but it gets my point across," Merlin retorted.

"Merlin, you're about as fierce as a wet kitten."

"Thank you. Thanks for that. One of these days, you'll see what I can _really_ do and you'll change your mind," he sniffed smugly.

"Mm-hm."

"Go to sleep. I'll clean up quietly and you get some rest," he said more gently.

Gesturing at his paperwork, Arthur glared at him. "I have work to do, Merlin."

Gesturing at Arthur's room, Merlin glared right back. "Something I, of course, do not understand."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

 _But when it comes to love, you're just as blinded. Baby please come back; it wasn't you, baby, it was me._

This caused Merlin's brow to lighten as well and before he knew it, they were both laughing so hard, tears streamed down Arthur's face and Merlin had collapsed onto the stone floor.

* * *

 _Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems. Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano... All I know is I love you too much to walk away though._

Over the course of the next week, things were almost back to normal. Arthur watched Merlin's every movement. Traced his distance around Arthur's room. Arthur crowded him too close one night, after many tankards of ale, mouthing sloppily at Merlin's neck. That seemed safer than lips.

* * *

 _Come inside. Pick up your bags off the sidewalk; don't you hear sincerity in my voice, when I talk?_

Arthur pulled him close into his arms, breathing him in.

* * *

 _Told you this is my fault, look me in the eyeball._

Merlin's arms fluttered helplessly at his sides. "Arthur," he babbled. "Arthur, you're... you're _drunk_ , Arthur! You don't..."

"Hush..."

"You don't, Arthur," he said a bit desperately, trying to wriggle his way out of Arthur's grasp. He slipped away finally, edging towards the door. "Arthur, don't do something you'll regret."

"I won't," Arthur promised eagerly, drunkenly.

* * *

 _Next time I'm pissed, I'll aim my fist at the dry wall._

"I'll never hurt you again," Arthur promised. And to his drunken mind, it seemed absolutely true. He smiled widely at Merlin, petting his cheek. Tugging at his ear with a playful grin.

* * *

 _Next time, there will be no next time. I apologize, even though I know it's lies._

Merlin swallowed. He took Arthur's hands gently and pushed them back towards Arthur's sides. "I'm sorry. Not... Not when you're drunk, Arthur." He looked away as Arthur pulled his best lonely puppy look, hands reaching out again.

Merlin skirted the touch and backed towards the door again. "You should sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

 _I'm tired of the games._

Arthur _did_ go to sleep. He did regret his non-action the night before. He also didn't have a chance to try again, because that was when the whole situation came to fruition and Arthur went to his father, tired, stilted, angry, and frustrated.

* * *

 _I just want him back._

Of course, when he went back to his cold room and the whole situation washed over him, he screwed up his face and cried. Silently. Staring up at the ceiling. Tears falling down his cheeks to wet the pillow.

What a stubborn fool he was.

What had he done?

Of all the stupid, immature things that he could have done. Betraying Merlin because...

Because...

Because...

* * *

 _I know I'm a liar._

Dawn brought the new day like it always did, Merlin inhaling deeply into the hay.

The clink-clang down the stairs brought Uther and knights, back for more torture.

Tired, so tired, Merlin dragged himself up the bars to his feet. "I did it," he admitted, voice flat, before they could whip him or dunk him or squeeze him or stretch him or beat him...

Uther paused in front of the bars, face looking old and tired.

Perhaps it was for the best to just end all of it.

"I ensorcelled your son."

"Undo it."

"It is undone," Merlin lied.

"What did you do?"

"I made him love me," he murmured, staring through the king's chest, unseeing.

"You will be executed this afternoon."

Merlin nodded. What else was there to do.

* * *

 _If he ever tries to fucking leave again, I'mma tie him to the bed and set the house on fire._

"This afternoon," Uther informed him. "He's to die at three bells after midday."

Arthur scowled out the window.

"Did you _hear_ me, Arthur?"

"I _heard_ you, Father."

"A response would be a courtesy."

"Of course, Father," Arthur replied, gripping his own wrist too tightly for comfort.

"Now we'll finally be rid of sorcery," Uther continued on.

A sudden dread filled Arthur's heart. Again. That was a bad thing, though. Arthur was supposed to bring _back_ magic. And it could have worked. He could have kept Merlin by his side. Instead he was leaving. Going away forever. And Arthur wouldn't be able to bring him back. Couldn't bring him back. Would never be able to bring him back. He bit his lip.

What had he done? What. Had. He. Done.

His father's hand came down on his shoulder. "I... I am proud of you, Arthur," his father murmured.

And it was the balm that swept everything away. Of course it should have been so easy...

* * *

 _Just gonna stand there, and watch me burn. But that's alright because I like the way it hurts. Just gonna stand there and hear me cry, but that's alright because I love the way you lie. I love the way you lie._

Merlin watched with vague disinterest as the knight gave him a briefly terrified glance before he knelt and dipped the torch into the wood around him. Wood burned.

Another knight did the same on the other side. But there were only two. That would give Merlin plenty of time to sweat—literally, up on the pyre while waiting for the flames to consume him.

What good was magic when it didn't get you what you wanted?

Poor Arthur, so lonely under his father's hand. Gwen would never forgive him. Gaius would never look at him. But he would go on to be king. Always strong, but so so brittle underneath, Gwen holding his hand. Maybe Morgana would watch his back.

He frowned. Too bad he hadn't tried sending to her...something to—but it was no use. She wanted him dead anyway.

Now Arthur had no one to watch his back.

He looked around a bit wildly, his head listing over to his other shoulder. His eyes found Gwen and Gaius. "Protect him," he called, just over the snapping of burning kindling.

Gwen's eyes shown as she dropped her face into Gaius' shoulder.

He met Gaius' eyes. "Don't hate him." Gaius dropped his gaze.

Desperate, he found Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot, the men that he saw united under Arthur. "Guard him. Love him. Argue with him."

The raw pain in their eyes made him smile despite the bruises and cuts on his face.

Gwaine nodded.

Elyan nodded.

Lancelot nodded.

His heart soared.

Cinders began to burn spots through his clothing, tiny burns on his skin.

"Arthur!" He called again, turning his face to the parapets. To the red and gold figure there. "I love you, Arthur!"

* * *

 _I love the way you lie_.

Arthur's head snapped up at the raw, open confession. Tears skewed his vision and he dragged the back of his hand over his eyes roughly.

"Arthur, pay him no attention. He's clearly depraved."

The words hurt. God, they hurt in his chest. The lies in the face of open truth.

"It'll be okay, Arthur! I love you! Always! I always loved you!"

"More torches!" Uther roared.

Arthur couldn't breathe. His already empty stomach threatened upheaval again. He gripped the stone in front of him, hoping to steady his nerves. Ignore the scent of burning wood in his nostrils, the vague echo-y quality to the sound that filtered through his ears.

The fire leapt up.

* * *

 _I love the way you lie_.

The flames surrounded him, his skin heating uncomfortably, his pants catching fire. Clamping his mouth shut until his jaw ached, he refused to scream at this. This was just fire. Just flames. All-consuming and engulfing, destroying, hungry flame.

Arthur was mouthing something to him. Leaning over the stone of the ramparts.

He squinted.

* * *

 _I love the way you lie_.

"I love you," he mouthed at Merlin. "I'm sorry. Forgive me." He mouthed them slowly, exaggerated.

When Merlin beamed, he sagged with relief, coughing at the smoke and acrid scent of burning hair, allowing the tears to fall. It didn't matter anymore.

This foolish waste of life and power. His cowardice. His weakness.

Merlin forgave him. But that didn't mean he forgave himself.

This would never happen again.

"The smoke," he excused at his father's hard glance. He coughed for good measure, the lie sticking in this throat.

He retched again next to his feet at the scent of burning flesh, taking deep shuddering breaths that disguised sobs.

His father's hand rested on his back in pity.


End file.
